Fear
by Logan Ross
Summary: Chapter 5 - a new school year and a new attitude?
1. Chapter 1

In an upstairs bedroom of an ordinary house, in an ordinary suburb an extraordinary wizard stared out at the cloudless expanse of night sky. The leaded window was ajar, and the boy was absently enjoying the cool night breeze on his face. The room was stuffy and claustrophobic, not aided by the 90-degree heat wave that this particular part of Britain was experiencing. Only the night yielded respite from the clingy heat of the summer.

Harry Potter sighed slightly as the wind cooled the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. It burned ferociously sometimes, and burned blood red into his visage, yet most of the time it was barely noticeable. It was also generally well hidden behind his stubbornly untidy, black fringe. He leant back against the window frame and stared up at the constellation Sirius. He had taken to doing this nightly since he had emerged from the Department of Mysteries, one again feeling alone in the world. His entire life he'd had no family. No family, save the Dursleys. The feeling was mutual between Harry and the Dursley family that they would happily bid each other goodbye and good-riddance, but the legacy of Harry's being an orphan meant that he had to spend at least part of his summer in the Dursleys' house. His Aunt Petunia, one of Harry's two remaining blood relatives (the other being his cousin Dudley) was essential to an ancient magic that meant that no harm could befall Harry from the feared Lord Voldemort; his mother had given her life to save Harry's and being in his Aunt's company for as little as one week a year, sealed the spell.

However Albus Dumbledore had decided to err on the side of caution, and had prescribed Harry two weeks' stay with the Dursleys before allowing him to return to Grimmauld Place, his late godfather, Sirius', house and headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. This was to be Harry's final night in the Dursleys' house. In the morning half a dozen Order members would arrive to whisk him away for the rest of his summer holiday in much better company – that of his two best friends, Ron and Hermione.

He had heard from Hermione, by owl-post, informing him that Ron had almost recovered from his ordeal in the Brain Room of the Department of Mysteries. Each time she had written Harry had felt more than just a twinge of guilt in the pit of his stomach for having led his friends into such mortal danger. Words she had said before she had even agreed to leave the castle with him had been, "You do have a bit of a saving-people-thing, don't you?" This had aggravated him immensely at the time, but now looking back on it Harry realised that he had most definitely not been thinking entirely clearly. He should have realised that what he had dreamt might not have been real. But it had been before – the attack on Mr Weasley and, Harry assumed, the Dark Lord performing the Cruciatus curse on Wormtail in an old house somewhere. That had definitely been real – he had woken up from the pain in his scar after that.

Many nights he had run through this over and over, and did not know what to make of it. He would lie on his back, sleepless as much due to the heat as to the worry and guilt consuming him, then fling himself over onto his front, burying his face in the pillow, pummelling it with his fists and flailing his legs as if this would help make sense of it all. He always ended up at the same terrible thought though. If he had only listened to Hermione, accepted that there was nothing he could do, Sirius would not be dead. The record of the prophecy would not have been destroyed. The members of the Order would not have had to get injured to save stupid Harry and his friends. He had bitten off way more than he had a hope of chewing, and he knew it. He led his friends into harm's way, blinded by the need to rescue Sirius.

Then he though about what good had come from his actions. Well for one, Dumbledore had been able to come back out of hiding, and for another the Ministry of Magic had finally had to accept that, after he had contributed in major fashion to the destruction of the entrance hall to their building, that Voldemort had indeed returned – a fact they had singularly refused to accept for the previous year. And several Death Eaters, including Lucius Malfoy, had been arrested when the Department of Mysteries had magically sealed around them. They had been, according to the Daily Prophet, incarcerated in magical gold cages, as the Dementors of Azkaban had abandoned their servitude to the Ministry and joined the Dark Order.

This did mean that while many previously active Death Eaters were locked up, those who had bade their time in Azkaban had returned to Voldemort's side as glorified martyrs to the Dark cause, showing the kind of dedication Voldemort would accept no less than.

It all came back, though, to Harry's single most incessant thought; had all that been worth Sirius' life? His immediate reaction to this, every time, was the selfish one – No! But when he thought about it some more, he realised that it was in no small part due to the efforts of his godfather that none of his friends had been more severely injured by the Death Eaters. Sirius, after all, had chosen to come assist Harry; Hermione, Ron, Neville, Ginny and Luna had been practically press ganged into coming to London by Harry. He felt that while he had not expressly told them to come with him, his hot-headedness had caused him to overlook that they would have followed him to the farthest ends of the earth to help him; he had decided to storm off to London to rescue Sirius, and they had supported him one-hundred percent. As he thought about the immensity of the gesture of solidarity each of them had shown, he had been reduced to tears on more than one night since school had broken up.

He had thought about whether or not he would have done the same for any of them, and had decided immediately that of course he would. Indeed he had, during his second year when he and Ron had rescued Ginny from the clutches of death in the Chamber of Secrets.

His head lolled against the window frame as all these thoughts raced through his mind for what felt like the millionth time. They still affected him in the same way, emotionally, as they had when the feeling had been brand new. He knew that he was very unlikely to get to sleep tonight, as on the previous nights. So he made no effort to move and remained sat on the window sill until dawn.

The following morning Harry was already sat in the kitchen with a bowl of cereal when Aunt Petunia made the first showing of the Dursley family on a weekend morning. She was always up before either her husband or son, and in this time she busied silently with cleaning obsessively or preparing the others' breakfast. In terms of food, for breakfast Harry was generally left to fend for himself. This was the other half of the reason why he was up before even Aunt Petunia; if he were any later he would have to fight with Uncle Vernon or Dudley or both of them to get anything to eat. The pair of them would suddenly feel a craving for whatever it looked as though Harry wanted to eat, and Aunt Petunia naturally gave them priority over Harry. So he used the fact that he had generally been awake anyway to go help himself to breakfast before they stirred.

Aunt Petunia sniffed slightly when she walked into the kitchen to find Harry immersed in Uncle Vernon's newspaper. But she pointedly ignored him and proceeded with nose in the air to the far end of the kitchen to get bowls and plates out. After slightly less than even a minute, though, she snapped at him.

"You make sure you fold that back up and get it back in the bag before Vernon comes down, boy," she whispered icily, "and don't you dare get any milk or orange juice on it. You ruined that other one."

'That other one' had been several summers ago, and it had been entirely Dudley's fault, though Harry was not inclined in the slightest to argue about a soggy newspaper. He folded the paper back up, as it was, and stuffed it roughly back into the bag it had come in. The tossed it over the table so that it landed the right way round in front on Uncle Vernon's usual seat. Aunt Petunia scowled slightly then opened her mouth again.

"You don't you make a little more noise while people are trying to sleep," she hissed. Harry stood abruptly, pushing his chair away from the table with the back of his knees as he stood up rather sharply. Aunt Petunia fell silent and though Harry was not looking directly at her, he could tell she thought Harry might explode. He did not, instead he silently left the room, closing the door with a small snap behind him, and proceeding upstairs to his room to collect his things and pack them into his trunk, hoping with all his might that his Order escort would arrive soon.

After about half-an-hours' packing, Harry was sat on the lid of his trunk, trying to get it to close. It was several minutes before he realised that one of his thick dragon skin gloves what inhibiting his progress, though even when the obstruction was places properly into the trunk, it took all Harry's weight to get the lid down and clasped. He was contemplating using his wand to bewitch the trunk to make it feather-light when there was a muffled bang from downstairs followed closely by a small shriek of fright that had unmistakeably been the characteristic sound Aunt Petunia made when a wizard abruptly appeared in her presence.

Harry shoved his wand into the waistband of his jeans, behind his back, disguising it by pulling his untucked T-shirt over it, and ran downstairs to see who had come. When he entered the kitchen he was slightly less surprised that Aunt Petunia had screamed. Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody was standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, looking decidedly worse for wear. His heavily scarred and creased face was hidden behind a visage of blood and grime and his nose looked even more unshapely than usual. He worn travelling cloak was grimy also, and was torn in several places. Hey eyes however, his real one and his magical one, were both bright and alert, and looked worried.

"Good, they haven't found you," he growled, grasping Harry tightly by the shoulder and steering him out of the kitchen, stopping in the hallway, positioned well away from windows.

"What's going on?" asked Harry, still staring in wonderment at the state of Moody's clothes.

"Bad business," he continued shortly, "had a run-in with some Dementors. They've abandoned Azkaban you see, joined the Dark Side again. It was always going to happen. If we'd had a Minister with more than half a wit this could have been avoided, but given the circumstances last year…"

He trailed off for a moment, but then continued in an urgent voice.

"Your escort was supposed to consist of six of us. However there will be only two more members arriving to take care of your transit to Headquarters."

"What happened?" Harry cut across him.

"We'll fill you in as much as is necessary once you're safely out of here," said Moody, overriding him right back, "we have to get you out of here as soon as possible though."

At that, he reached inside his robes and withdrew a blue, crystal vial. It contained a very small amount of a potion which judging from the amount of frozen condensation on the exterior of the glass was incredibly cold.

"You're going to need to take this," he explained abruptly, flaring his remaining, complete nostril, "in order to make it to Headquarters unscathed. It's a very powerful potion which hopefully," here he scowled slightly, "won't kill you."

He handed Harry the vial, muttering something under his breath. Harry caught the words 'Snape', and 'untrustworthy' and 'scum', but didn't ask any further questions. He was surprised to find that the glass in his hand was not the slightest bit cold to the touch. He reached to the stopper with his other hand, but Moody's gnarled hand was quickly placed over his own, pale hand.

"Wait," he heaved, "once you take it we only have a very narrow window of opportunity. We have to wait for the other two. One will go ahead of you, and the other two of us will follow once we're sure that you've safely arrived.

Harry swallowed rather hard. It seemed as though however he was going to get to Grimmauld Place was no conventional means of transportation, even for wizards.

"Mr Weasley once had the fireplace in there –" he indicated the fireplace in the living room- "added to the Floo network…"

"Don't be a fool. There are spies and moles all over. We can't have anyone knowing about this place or where you are."

"What about Portkeys?" Harry pressed, deciding that he didn't like how Moody wasn't letting him know exactly how dangerous his intended mode of transportation actually was.

"Same – they can be traced." Moody replied, "anyone could easily find out where Portkeys have taken people – times and places, Potter," he said quietly. "Constant vigilance," he boomed making Harry, and Aunt Petunia who was listening behind the kitchen door, jump. Moody cast a dirty look in the direction of the kitchen, and turned away from it.

At that moment there were two more loud bangs from the kitchen, and a thud from upstairs, followed by a roar.

"Bloody racket!" Uncle Vernon had evidently been awoken by the sounds from downstairs. "What the hell are you up to this time, boy? Trying to wake up the whole neighbourhood? I'll wake you up, you inconsiderate little snot-nosed…"

Uncle Vernon reached the foot of the stairs, with one arm in his bath robe and the other flailing behind his back to find the other sleeve, in mid-tirade, and fell suddenly silent. The violent purple shade vanished from his face in an instant, and his moustache even seemed to droop as he caught sight of Mad-Eye Moody standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking menacing. Uncle Vernon's eyes shot to Moody's wand, which he was pounding against his palm as though he was going to hit him with it.

"You were saying?" growled Moody, displeasure and disgust prevalent in his gnarled expression. Uncle Vernon didn't manage a reply. His eyes shot over to the doorway, which framed Nymphodora Tonks and Severus Snape, who looked absurd and cold respectively. Tonks, a Metamorphmagus, had her customary pink hair today, and was wearing violently green robes, which clashed viciously; she looked as if she were trying her hardest not to laugh at the state of the dishevelled Muggle standing before her. Snape was wearing his usual black robes and usual sneer.

Ordinarily Uncle Vernon would have puffed himself up and demanded that these intruders leave at once, but he had evidently learned his lesson from previous experience, and remained silent. Moody turned his back on Uncle Vernon, and his attention turned back to Harry.

"Now if Snape has prepared this solution properly, which he assures me he has," here Moody shot a dirty look in Snape's direction, while Snape pursed his lips, "then you should make it to Headquarters with no injury."

This worried Harry immediately. It was common knowledge that Snape disliked him intensely, and while he knew that Snape had never tried to hurt him in the past and the Dumbledore had complete trust in Snape, Harry was always naturally suspicious around him. Now shaking a little, he took the stopper out of the bottle, and sniffed the contents gingerly. The white vapour had entirely no smell, and as they burned Harry's nose in a distantly familiar way, he realised that it was condensation furling from the neck of the vial. The cold he had inhaled made him shiver slightly. Moody nodded slowly to him, and Harry raised the vial to his mouth, feeling the cold glass on his lips. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, emptying the contents of the vial into his mouth, and quickly swallowing them.

Immediately an intense cold flooded his body, making him wheeze as his frozen breath caught in his throat. He winced as the potion became colder and colder as it got down to his stomach.

"Here," said Moody, quickly handing him a large golden feather, "hold on to this as tight as you can. Tonks – you go ahead," he added, looking away from Harry for a moment.

Harry grasped the feather tightly in his free hand. Before he'd even though to take the vial from his lips, the phoenix feather ignited and he was instantaneously engulfed in flame. He could feel the heat of it, even though the cold of the potion he had swallowed was keeping it from actually burning him. The flash of intense heat was over in an instant. Harry opened his eyes expecting to see the semi-familiar surroundings of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place surrounding him, and maybe a few friendly faces. He found himself in a place that, although unexpected, he felt as if he had been before. There was no discernable beginning or end to the place, no features or landmarks – in fact he was surrounded by fast-moving, swirling colour. The strange sensation he was feeling in his stomach was what made the place familiar, it was the same odd feeling he had had when the gas in the maze that had been the third Triwizard task had turned the world upside down.

Harry barely had the time to start wondering just what exactly had gone wrong, and why he hadn't arrived in Grimmauld Place before he cried out in fright as he was once again engulfed in fire. He could feel the heat for slightly longer this time. He ventured to open his eyes before he was conscious of the fire having subsided, and found that the blinding gold of the fire was ebbing away to black behind him. Darkness was creeping up on him; he could hear sounds other than the roaring his ears had become accustomed to. As he twisted to look behind him, to see what was following him, his scar burned hotter than the Phoenix fire against his forehead, and tears of pain obscured his vision again, before he screwed his eyes shut against it. He could hear a noise that sounded almost human; then it developed into an inhuman laugh, a shriek, and the darkness tailing Harry was suddenly illuminated by a terrifying green light rushing towards him, making more noise than ever. Harry's face contorted in fear as he realised that there was nothing he could do to avoid the spell – he was stuck to the Phoenix's feather. He could see green even through his screwed up eyelids… 


	2. Chapter 2

In the cold hallway in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Nymphodora Tonks had appeared instantaneously. She looked quickly around herself, and caught Molly Weasley's eye. She received a nod from the nervous-looking woman and raised her wand into the air in anticipation. As Snape Apparated next to her, she swept her wand in a swift, downwards motion. Instantly there was a flash of golden fire in the middle of the room, and the room filled with a screaming, inhuman howl. The tips of the flame dying from Harry Potter's form were tinged with green, and the teenage boy lying at the centre of them collapsed immediately to the cold stone floor, apparently unconscious.

Mrs Weasley covered the distance from the kitchen doorway to the centre of the hall in a split-second, and was knelt down next to Harry trying to determine what the problem was. At the same moment Mad-Eye Moody appeared, next to Snape and Tonks, looking alert and edgy. He caught sight of Harry with both his normal and magical eyes, which both narrowed in rage and vindication. He turned to Snape instantly.

"The best way to bring him here, eh?" he snarled, before dashing over the Mrs Weasley to help her with Harry. Moody quickly checked Harry over while Mrs Weasley fussed over lying him in what she thought looked like a more comfortable position, disentangling his limbs from his clothes, and removing the feather from his hand.

"He's OK, Molly," said Moody quietly. He pulled his wand and muttered, "_Enervate_," and Harry's eyelids twitched then opened.

His forehead was still burning as he opened his eyes to the all-too-familiar sight of finding several people leaning over him as though he was gravely ill. He sat up slowly. As soon as he had stabilized himself, Moody started asking questions.

"What happened, Potter?" he growled, suspicion etched over his face, as his magical eye spun round and focused on Snape through the back of his head.

"I, err, I don't know," began Harry, but before he could say any more, Moody had asked another.

"What did you see?"

"See? I saw … fire … then," Harry screwed up his face to remember, his eyes struggling to adjust to the warm candlelight – still dazzled by the spell, "a grey place with swirling colour before I caught fire again."

"Then what?" Moody pressed.

"Then there was black catching up the fire around me, then I heard laughter and then the black turned green like, … like, _Avada_…"

"There, now dear," Mrs Weasley cut him off, though her voice shook slightly as she patted his chest, before standing to help him up. With a quick look to Moody she confirmed that Moody had no further questions for Harry, before leading him from the hallway into the kitchen, stopping halfway there to hug him tightly. Mrs Weasley had always been the most motherly figure in Harry's life, and he knew that she considered him practically as another son. She released him.

"Are you hurt at all, dear?" she asked gently. Harry thought for a moment – his scar was still prickly, but he didn't say anything to her about it.

"I'm OK," he said.

"Your scar hurts, doesn't it," she said, shrewdly. Harry looked up at her.

"Yes," he admitted, his gaze sinking back down to somewhere around his toes. Mrs Weasley held his hand in her hands and raised his face back up, peering into his eyes.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know," she said, "you have no control over it, and the circumstances in which you received it were beyond the control of any of us. It's not a sign of weakness."

"It is a weakness though," he protested, sadly, "it burns when Voldemort does something, and allows him to see into and control my thoughts." When Mrs Weasley had recovered from the large shudder she had given when Harry had spoken Voldemort's name, she once again promised him that it was nothing to be ashamed of.

Harry then led the way into the kitchen, where he was greeted by the sight of Ron, Hermione and Ginny all looking extremely frightened.

"Harry!" cried Hermione as he entered, and dashed across the room to grab hold of him in a hug as warm as Mrs Weasley's, "thank God you're OK. We've been worried about you, then when we heard that scream in the hall," she squeezed him once more then let go. "What was that anyway?" she asked finally.

"I don't know," Harry lied, with a look that told Hermione that Harry would probably be prepared to talk about it later, "I'm hungry though – anything left over?"

"Of course," said Mrs Weasley, bustling off across the kitchen and returning momentarily with a plate piled high with food. Harry tucked in ravenously, and Mrs Weasley looked as though her suspicions that Harry was underfed by the Dursleys was being proved correct. When he was finished, he looked up finally from his plate to see that everyone in the room was looking at him.

"Well, how were your summers so far, then?" he asked, hoping he sounded cheerful as he shattered the silence.

"Well, there's been a lot of activity in the Order, all secret stuff though," said Mrs Weasley, "Ginny has been sitting around a lot recently, though Ron and Hermione have been quite busy." She finished with a slightly amused tone to her voice, which made Harry grin and turn to the pair of them.

"Oh yeah," he asked, his grin widening across his face, his eyebrows raised. Hermione looked a little flustered, and the tips of Ron's ears had turned their characteristic pink, as they always did when he was embarrassed.

"They've started going out," Ginny supplied helpfully, as Mrs Weasley wrung her hands together and stared at Ron and Hermione, misty eyed. Ginny, Harry noticed, seemed to find the situation just as amusing as he did.

"It's about time," he said, and at this the pair of them looked politely shocked.

"We weren't that obvious," said Hermione quickly, "I mean, I know I wasn't sure until this summer."

"Oh for God's sake, you've been blundering about in your own cute little ways of trying to hide it since I first met Hermione," said Ginny, giggling, and causing Harry to laugh.

Harry stood up with a snort of laughter, walked over and clapped them both on the back. It was the first time he'd felt any emotion other than sadness or anger for about a month, and he wanted it to last as long as possible, before they would inevitably go upstairs and discuss the Phoenix Fire, Sirius and the rise of the Dark Order.

At length, by general consensus they proceeded upstairs, taking Harry's stuff up to the room that he would have to himself, as Ron and Hermione were sharing the room that he and Ron had shared on previous occasions, though Harry was pleased to note that the room still had the two single beds in it. Once his things had been ranged around the room to Harry's satisfaction, the four of them went down to Ron and Hermione's room, and sat down all facing each other, all of them wearing very serious looks to replace the gaiety from the kitchen.

Harry suddenly became aware that he was still slightly black from the Phoenix fire. He felt confused and apprehensive about the discussion that was to follow. Hermione, Ron and Ginny were all regarding Harry sadly – he looked down, away from all of them.

"We all know how you feel, Harry," said Hermione gently.

"Do you?" asked Harry, half-heartedly.

"Yes," said Hermione firmly. "We've known Sirius for as long as you have, we lost him too."

"It wasn't your fault he died though," said Harry, tears beginning to well in his eyes as he thought, once again, about the guilt he had been feeling over the past weeks.

"Nor was it yours," said Hermione, more firmly still, standing up and moving slowly towards Harry.

Harry looked back up from the floor, his eyes red. He was surprised to see, when he met Hermione's eyes that hers were too. She moved over and sat on the bed next to him.

"It was, though," Harry cried, now shaking with emotion, "if I'd just listened to you, we'd never have gone to the Ministry, Sirius would never have had to come, and he'd never have … never have died."

"It was not your fault," said Hermione, "I know if I'd had visions like that of my parents dying, I'd have been the first to want to go help."

"But you're right, I do have this 'saving-people thing'; I shouldn't have gone, and I shouldn't have made you come – you all got hurt too. That was my fault," he finished quietly.

"Harry we came because we wanted to help you," Hermione replied patiently, while Ron nodded vigorously.

"Yeah," said Ron, "what sort of friends would we be if we'd let you go on your own? Especially after you saved Dad."

"Yeah!" agreed Ginny, fervently.

Despite himself, Harry couldn't help but smile at the huge support he was receiving from his friends.

"I still want to apologize," he said, making eye contact with each of them in turn. They allowed him to do so, nodding to him their acceptance.

"No harm done," said Hermione finally. Ron looked uncomfortable, but Harry didn't see him. He was looking at Hermione.

"You're OK after whatever it was that Death Eater did to you?" he asked, remembering how Hermione had silently fallen after a Death Eater had made a slashing motion with his wand.

"Oh yeah," said Hermione, "I haven't been about to find out what it was."

"Not for lack of trying," said Ron, trying to sound cheerful, though the tremble in his voice betrayed him.

"What…" Harry began, but Hermione nudged him gently. He fell silent and looked at her. When he turned back toward Ron, he saw that Ron looked decidedly ill.

"I'll tell you some other time," whispered Hermione, squeezing him gently before returning to Ron's bed and sitting beside him.

"What's been going on while I've been away at the Dursleys, anyway?" Harry asked, changing the subject away from Ron, but not entirely away from the subject.

"Well, where to start," said Hermione. "There have been a number of disappearances, wizard and Muggle; though everyone in the Order tells us it's not as bad as it used to be." Hermione drew breath, in the characteristic manner of someone trying to decide what to tell first.

"Well, start at the top, I guess," she said, "Fudge resigned…"

"Yeah," said Ron derisively, "said that his family had been 'gravely affected by the return of the Dark Lord', though everyone knows that he didn't want to be the one to preside over the destruction of his cushy little life. Left the country!"

Harry raised his eyebrows. He had once though a lot more of the ex-Minister for Magic, though now the news that Fudge had left didn't seem any less than Harry would have expected of him. After all, he had refused point-blank for an entire year to believe that Voldemort had returned, until he had been confronted face-to-face with the truth in the main entrance hall to the Ministry of Magic.

"Yes, well," said Hermione finally, "Dumbledore was offered the job, naturally, though he turned it down, quoting the school again – though I'm sure that he couldn't reasonably run the Order and the Ministry _and_ Hogwarts. I overheard him say that he can have more influence from where he is than from the Ministry anyway." She twiddled her fingers, thinking once more.

"Who got the job, then?" asked Harry.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," Hermione replied, to Harry's raised eyebrows.

"Really? What did Dumbledore think?"

"Well he seemed to think that having a member of the Order in charge couldn't hurt, what with the additional intelligence the Order are able to pass him, even at the cost of manpower to the Order. It's been working OK," Hermione replied again.

"Oh good, I thought you were going to say Malfoy for a moment there!" joked Harry.

"Haven't you heard?" asked Ron.

"Heard what?"

"Malfoy got arrested at the Ministry the night we were there." Harry's eyebrows were once again raised in surprise. "The Department of Mysteries sealed around most of the Death Eaters. The Order members got out in time, but as soon as the fighting in the Entrance Hall started the entire building was locked down. There is no way you can get out of the Ministry once it's locked down. They got loads of them."

"Hold on," Harry was thinking now, "we left – by Dumbledore's Portkey. And Voldemort's still loose … how?"

"Well, Dumbledore and Voldemort aren't exactly your average wizards, are they?" asked Hermione.

"Where are they, anyway?" Harry asked, "now that the Dementors have presumably left Azkaban?"

"Well, they're still in Azkaban, but they're magically bound in their cells. I've heard they use immobilization spells, which only allow certain permitted activities. And in case any of the prisoners think they can beat the enchantments, there are dragons outside for good measure."

Harry smiled at the image in his head of Lucius Malfoy hanging from the jaws of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Ron was grinning too, apparently picturing the same thing. Harry then found himself picturing Draco Malfoy _not_ strutting around Hogwarts as he usually did, with his _Daddy_'s name to use to defend himself. He was then surprised to find that he didn't feel vindicated or satisfied, but sorry for Draco. He quickly shook the feeling.

"That should shut Malfoy up good and proper," said Harry with a grin.

"That's the thing," said Hermione nervously, "nobody knows where he is."

"What?"

"He went missing. His mother was arrested for conspiracy to jailbreak – trying to free Malfoy's dad – and when the Ministry went to take Draco into protective custody he wasn't at their Manor." Hermione stopped and let the importance of this news sink in. She knew she didn't need to explain what this meant, but she continued anyway.

"Their best guess is that he is in Voldemort's custody, either voluntarily or because he was abducted."

"Who're 'they'?"

"The Order, well – Dumbledore."

"Malfoy is in training in some Voldemort camp somewhere," said Harry, deadpan.

"Probably," replied Hermione in a similarly flat voice.

"So what?" said Ron, in a voice that told Harry that he'd been wanting to say this for a while, but hadn't dared without Harry to back him up, "we've always known he was an evil little shit. He's gone and joined the losing side, and he'll get what's coming to him," he continued viciously.

Hermione shot a disdainful look at Ron, and spoke to Harry, "of course it's not like that at all. Dumbledore's really worried about having spies at Hogwarts, and reasons he could give for not wanting Malfoy or Crabbe or Goyle at Hogwarts."

"Crabbe and Goyle have gone too," Ginny explained, "though they're not a problem, 'cos Dumbledore could kick them out on their academic record."

"Or lack of it," Hermione added acidly.

Harry though again, for a long moment. He had thought Draco Malfoy was an irritating, arrogant, even mean little creature, but had never thought of him as evil. After all, on their first encounter Draco had seemed normal enough – just a bored schoolboy in the middle of a shopping marathon with his mother, and on their second had offered his friendship, and though he had been rude to Ron, hadn't been necessarily rude to Harry. He had dwelt on this periodically since that day, but had never thought it would come to the point where it was once again relevant. Before he realised, he was speaking.

"I don't reckon Malfoy's evil," he heard himself say aloud. Ron looked up at him, and Hermione's expression changed imperceptibly.

"I mean, he's annoying and arrogant and mean and all that, but he's never actually done anything particularly 'evil'."

"He tried to get Hagrid fired!" exploded Ron.

"Kids always say things like that, but Malfoy's never done anything. It was all his father. Remember when he challenged me to that duel in first year? He didn't even show – he just snitched on us."

"As long as you don't let him snitch on us in any other way!" said Ron. Harry had been expecting this to happen at some point – the conversation was onto Quidditch.


	3. Chapter 3

At length, Ron ran out of Quidditch news for Harry, and made his way downstairs. He explained that he had organised a trip to Diagon Alley with Mrs Weasley to buy Hermione a birthday present for the following month of September. Harry thought that this was usually organised of Ron, though he supposed that between them they had probably exhausted the possibilities Hogsmeade had to offer.

After Ron had left the room, Harry sat alone on Ron's bed thinking, mainly about Quidditch, but also about what Hermione had promised to tell him about. He didn't have to think long, however, as Hermione entered the room and sat opposite him shortly after Ron had left it. She looked at him, as if waiting for him to ask what had happened, before starting to explain. He obliged her after a few moments.

"So what happened to Ron in the Department of Mysteries?" he asked.

"Well, obviously we couldn't go anywhere because I was unconscious and Ron was incoherent, so the members of the Order who were there defended us from the remaining Death Eaters until the Department was reopened by Dumbledore. That must have been after he'd Portkeyed you back to Hogwarts. That I was told, as I was still knocked out up to that point.

"Well someone revived my, I think it was Lupin, and when I came to I was aware that, apart from hurting quite a bit, Ron was still talking rubbish while Dumbledore bent over him. Dumbledore then used his wand to disentangle Ron from the brains' tentacles, and though he stopped spouting incoherent sentences something was still evidently wrong with him.

"Dumbledore explained afterwards that those brains contain more or less all the knowledge in the world – even magically protected knowledge like Secrets or even things that wizards don't or shouldn't know. And those tentacles transfer knowledge to whoever they envelope, with the knowledge that most concerns them first, if that makes sense.

"So obviously it's a rather useful thing to have access too. I think Dumbledore was concerned about Voldemort finding and using that, rather than any other kind of more 'traditional' weapon. I mean, he's already possessed of rather efficient ways of dispatching people. After your Prophecy was destroyed, the next logical target for Voldemort to lay his hands on was those brains, as they _know_ what the prophecy contained.

"So Ron was, at that time, concerned with you and Sirius and probably me and Ginny, so he found out pretty much everything there is to know about all of us, and everything to do with us.

"Obviously that's a very large quantity of information, and a normal human brain can't deal with it all to process it into speech, even though the subject is very aware of everything they have found out. Dumbledore had no choice but to _Obliviate_ him to remove all the knowledge, in order to allow him to speak again.

"So none of us knows precisely what he found out, but I think he still has an idea it was horrific – he hasn't been acting the same since then. Dumbledore had a suspicion that it was something to do with you and Voldemort, as that is what Ron was most concerned with at the time of the attack."

She finally finished speaking, and took a deep breath and a sip of water from a glass on her nightstand. Harry was lost for words – he felt as if he was feeling a little like Ron must have – too much information to process to be able to say anything about it. Hermione seemed to understand this, and didn't ask him anything or say any more, allowing him to absorb this news.

Harry was overwhelmed by the number of times she had used the word 'obviously', apart from anything else. Finally, he thought of something to say.

"So Ron still knows some of what he knew?" said Harry, the question sounding decidedly odd.

"Its more of he's aware he knew it, as opposed to still knowing elements of it," said Hermione, her face wearing a similar expression to Harry's as she thought about the logic of what she had said.

"Right," said Harry, thinking, "but _Obvilivate_ isn't a particularly strong memory charm, couldn't Dumbledore have used something a little stronger, or more permanent?"

Hermione was now giving Harry one of her 'come on, think about it' looks, so he did.

"Ohh," he said softly, as it dawned on him, "he still knows it! You can't find out that much and then have it immediately erased by a single, weak memory charm. Dumbledore wants to use Ron to find out about Voldemort!"

"Ya-ha," said Hermione, her lips a little tight.

"Does Ron know that's what Dumbledore wants?" asked Harry, having felt used by Dumbledore the previous year.

"I don't know that he's been told, but I think he has a pretty good idea," she replied, "he's not stupid, and he's been having flashbacks while he sleeps too. And I bet it'll have a _lot_ to do with what happened to you today. Tell me what happened."

Harry sighed, but realized that he didn't really have an excuse or even a reason not to tell her.

"Well Moody, Tonks and Snape arrived in Privet Drive to escort me here. Moody said that I would be traveling in a different way to normal, and it turned out to be by Phoenix Fire – I had to take a potion, which Snape had brought, and hold onto a Phoenix's feather.

"The feather caught fire, and I was engulfed as well, before Privet Drive vanished, then a few seconds later I was in a sort of limbo – before someone obviously summoned me here."

Hermione cut across him at this point, "so the potion was for what? To stop you getting burned?"

"Yeah, I think so," Harry replied, feeling that she already knew what it was for anyway, before continuing his account.

"Anyway, during the first transport, I was completely surrounded by the orange Phoenix flames, and at the halfway place everything was grey. During the second leg though, the flames were darkening behind me. Then I saw a form moving through the flames before I was suddenly being caught up by green light."

"_Avada Kedavra_!" Hermione squeaked.

"Probably," said Harry, "if the journey had been any longer it'd have got me too."

"It must have been him we heard as you arrived," said Hermione quickly, "I bet he thought it would be an easy shot – while you couldn't do anything – and then have you arrive here dead."

Harry had to agree.

"Then he must have been in the Fire with you," Hermione continued, "because Phoenix Fire is one of the most secure ways to transport anything." Hermione sounded slightly awed that anyone could have the power to overcome something which, on paper at least, was almost utterly impervious to outside attack – mainly because nobody could know when or where it would start or finish.

"He must have known that you were going to be moved this morning, and he must have waiting in your 'halfway place'," she went on, thinking out loud more than talking to Harry. I don't know. I've never been able to find much on Phoenix Fires in books, because not many people have Phoenixes, so while most people know _of_ it, nobody seems to have written, recently at least, about the mechanics of it."

"Someone'll know," said Harry, looking pointedly at Hermione.

"Mmm, and he's coming here to eat tonight," she said.

"Dumbledore's coming?" asked Harry, with mild surprise as Dumbledore had rarely been present at Grimmauld Place over the previous year. The last time Harry had seen Dumbledore he had destroyed several thousand Galleons worth of magical devices in Dumbledore's office, and while he was sure Dumbledore had repaired them with infinite ease, he didn't know how he would react to seeing him again, especially after all he had had to say at the end of the previous school year.

Harry then realized that he was dwelling not only on Ron and Hermione and Ginny and the rest of his friends, but on someone else too.

"And nobody's had any luck finding Malfoy?" he asked, tentatively.

"No," replied Hermione, "but I think Dumbledore has a theory on that too."

Harry sighed, Hermione had a lot of theories, and generally they didn't turn up to be far wrong.

"Go on," he said.

"Well, think about it," that was the other thing Harry liked to dislike about Hermione's theories, they generally involved thinking, "who's the only person at Hogwarts who can really get to you? The only one who you've spent most of your school career to date trying to outdo? And then think who would skills like that be most useful to?"

"Draco Malfoy and Lord Voldemort?" Harry asked, knowing he was right, "respectively," he added.

"Exactly. Also, Malfoy has the added bonus of being around you when you're your most passionate."

Harry was taken aback slightly by this, but before he could say anything, Hermione continued.

"QUIDDITCH," she whispered, "you get each other so riled up about it, and when can Voldemort affect you most, Harry? When your emotions run high! I'd say Voldemort struck gold when Lucius and Narcissa got arrested. Now he has unprecedented access to the one who can really get your hair up."

Harry leant backed against the headboard of Ron's bed, thinking about all this. He didn't really like the way Hermione had worded her explanation, '_when you're at your most passionate_'. He had often wondered inwardly about what it was about Malfoy that got him so riled up, made it so imperative for Harry to beat him, but had never been able to put his finger on any specific thing. Then Hermione had said '_passion_', and Harry had had a very odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was not unlike whatever he may have felt at any time he had beaten Malfoy at anything in the past, but it didn't seem like a pleasant version of that feeling. He pressed the emotion way back down into the pit of his stomach, where he couldn't feel it. He didn't want to, and he didn't need to.

"Can't even go outside and play Quidditch," he complained, feeling moody once again, as he had so much over the past year. Hermione seemed like she wanted to sigh or get exasperated, but knew it wouldn't help.

"Well we can find something to do inside then, can't we," she said brightly. "You know, as long as Mrs Weasley doesn't see you can use magic in here. It's completely undetectable by the Ministry."

This cheered Harry a little, he liked to use magic, and the opportunity to use it would make the proposition of three more weeks indoors a little more manageable.

That evening Dumbledore came to Grimmauld Place for dinner. He greeted Harry cheerily, though was evidently still wary of how Harry might react to him. Harry however had decided to forgive Dumbledore, had managed to appreciate that the old man had been acting in Harry's best interests, even though he had arguably made a mistake. He had, however, promised not to keep information from Harry in the future, and Harry wanted to give him the opportunity to do this. He also wanted to see Dumbledore extend the same courtesy to Ron, in terms of what he wanted Ron to do.

After dinner everybody remained seated at the kitchen table. Finally Dumbledore wiped his mouth and spoke.

"I suppose you all want to hear what I'm here for," he began. He sounded slightly less weary than he had when Harry had last heard him speak. "Well, apart from wanting to see for myself that Harry arrived safely and wasn't too undernourished," he allowed everyone at the table a small laugh, though Mrs Weasley snorted and flared her nostrils, "and wanting to wish him a happy birthday for tomorrow as I can't be here for that, I need to talk to Ronald."

Ron looked up from the spot on the floor he had been staring at and looked surprised, but very worried.

"Me?" he said, but his voice was shaking again, so his attempted curiosity was lost behind his nervousness. Mrs Weasley moved over behind him and squeezed his shoulders.

"Everybody here is aware of what happened to you a few weeks ago so I think it would be acceptable," he looked up at Mrs Weasley, "for me to speak in front of everyone?" She nodded, rather fiercely.

"Well Ron, the brains that you got caught up in at the Department of Mysteries, as I'm sure you're aware, contain a very great deal of knowledge, and…"

"We all know that part of the story," Ron said, cutting Dumbledore off in his nervousness to hear what Dumbledore wanted. He earned the sympathy of almost everyone in the room, except Mrs Weasley, from whom he earned a slightly sharper squeeze of his shoulders, and a trace of a scowl.

"Of course," said Dumbledore quickly, you must forgive me – one does tend to go on a bit as one ages." He paused again, as if for thought, then continued. "You will also be aware, I'm sure, that the memory charm I placed upon you that night was not a particularly strong one. Powerful, maybe, but not strong enough to prevent you from recalling at least some of what you knew that night, at a rate at which you can deal with the information without it inhibiting your speech once again.

"I realize that this may be a distressing proposition for you, however I believe that the information you may yield could be highly useful in our fight against the Dark side. I have spoken with both your parents, and they are both happy for you to _volunteer_," he stressed the word, "to help us. The final decision, of course, lies with you. If you do not wish to relive the memories, I should be happy to wipe them forever. If you do choose to relive them, I will do as you wish in relation to destroying them when the time comes."

Ron gulped audibly.

"I have started remembering things that I didn't know I knew," he said, sounding quite frightened. "Horrible stuff," he looked quickly up at Harry, before staring back down at the floor. "About all sorts of Dark stuff."

"What sort of _stuff_," asked Mrs Weasley, sounding a little impatient, as she always did if she felt that Great Or Important People were being messed around.

"It's OK, Molly," said Dumbledore calmly, "let him take his time. It will also be easier for him later, without everyone else watching."

The people round the table, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Mr and Mrs Weasley and Snape took this as their cue to leave. Hermione led Harry and Ginny up to her and Ron's bedroom, Mr and Mrs Weasley withdrew to the drawing room, and Snape went into the cellar to deal with some problem Flobberworms, who had built a small colony down there.

Up in Hermione's room, Hermione sat down on Ron's bed, while Ginny and Harry sat side by side on Hermione's.

"I wonder what Dean would say if he saw us on the same bed," Ginny said, her voice shaking a little, giving away her nervousness, "everyone knows I've always had a thing for you. Harry reddened, despite himself, and Hermione giggled a little. The mirth was stifled, however, by the fact that everyone was wondering precisely what Ron had been shown by the mysterious brains.

"I hope Ron doesn't get stopped up again by the memories," said Hermione.

"He shouldn't do," Ginny replied, "Dumbledore said the memory charm would help. Harry was feeling a little like he had the previous summer, in that everyone else in the room had more idea of what was going on than he did, but he didn't feel angry about it this year. He supposed that was because he considered that it was his fault that Ron had been attacked by them in the first place. After all it had been he, Harry, who had led his friends in to the Ministry, where harm had befallen them. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he though about the anguish Ron was probably experiencing. Harry also had experience with trying to relate painful memories to Albus Dumbledore. On occasion Harry had become annoyed by Dumbledore's calmness in the fact of horrific facts, but it was the same patient understanding that made him feel so much better every time he finished. His eyes refocused as he returned from his thoughts to the room, and he became aware that Ginny and Hermione were both looking at him.

"It was not your fault," said Hermione again.

Harry let his gaze fall again. They could say that over and over, but he wouldn't stop either feeling bad or apologizing for it.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"We've been through this, Harry," said Ginny gently, "you don't blame you for anything except being brave and loyal, so please stop blaming yourself."


	4. Chapter 4

The fourth chapter continues with a shock for Harry as they all realise the ramifications of that Ron was able to tell Dumbledore. Harry tells all to a new confidante, what will she do, and is her advice unblinkered by Harry's mere presence?

* * *

About an hour later, Ron reappeared looking pale and scared. Hermione rushed over to him and hugged him when he entered the room, and he looked a little relieved for it. The expression on his face softened from the obvious expression of stress and anguish it had worn as he entered. Ginny stood also, and went to relieve Hermione. Over Ginny's shoulder Harry met Ron's eyes, but as Harry began to smile Ron diverted his eyes quickly, his expression tensing slightly once again.

Out of consideration for Ron, as he had obviously not enjoyed reliving everything he had seen for Dumbledore, none of the other three asked Ron anything about what he had said. Harry knew completely how he felt, though he wasn't aware of deliberately having cooled towards Ron after any conversation with Dumbledore, at least not specifically Ron. Ron however had, it seemed, actively sought not to meet Harry's eyes again for the rest of the day. Ron answered Harry whilst looking elsewhere, or concentrating solely on the game of Wizards' Chess they shared when Hermione and Ginny went downstairs to get hot chocolate. Harry did not mention his irritation at this to anyway, figuring that they would feel he was being insensitive, and the Ron might be back to normal tomorrow.

Once Hermione and Ginny returned with the drinks to find Harry and Ron in the middle of a fierce battle between a knight and a bishop, Hermione insisted that they all go to bed. They had indeed eaten late enough, and Dumbledore's interrogation of Ron had taken a while. Nobody resisted Hermione's will, and Harry went upstairs to his room opposite Ginny's. The two parted on the landing, and Ginny peered around her door as she shut it.

"Goodnight, Harry," she said quietly, and the door snapped shut.

Harry went into his room, shut the door and launched himself onto the bed, bouncing slightly on the mattress, staring at the ceiling, wondering what Ron had told Dumbledore. He wanted Dumbledore to tell him what had been said, but at the same time would have preferred to hear it straight from Ron. Either way, if it did indeed concern him, and it seemed from Ron's attitude as if it did, Harry knew he needed to know. He eventually slid into restless sleep.

He was in the entrance hall to the Ministry of Magic. There were all the fireplaces lining either side of the long room, the Apparation areas, the security office where Harry and his friends had all had their wands weighed a short time ago. There was the Fountain of Magical Brethren, restored to its usual splendour – the centaur's head evidently having been returned from Hogwarts.

The hall was completely silent, but for the distant splashing of water in the fountain. He started to walk slowly down the hall. The security desk was empty! One of the fireplaces whistled, as if a wind outside was blowing over the top of the chimney. Harry stopped and turned. Suddenly the room was blazing with light, and Dumbledore stood before him, his blue eyes bright and his face etched in anger.

"Kill me now, Dumbledore," Harry screamed, while a searing pain shot through his scar. His nerves were screaming in pain as Voldemort's spirit once again tore out of his body, as viciously as it had entered. Harry was lying on the floor in the entrance hall to the Ministry, with the centaur's smashed head lying on the polished wood in front of him. Dumbledore crossed to him again, but as he approached, Harry's body seared again, and his scar felt as if it was melting through his skull. Harry screamed in pain, but stood up to Dumbledore, wand raised, his eyes burning with hatred. He took several bold, but painful steps towards the old man, who now looked frightened and angry. Harry opened his mouth.

"_Avada Kedavra_," whispered Dumbledore.

Someone else screamed this time, crying "No", then in a blast of green light, Harry awoke and found himself back in his dark room in Grimmauld Place, tangled in his sheets – sheets which were soaking with sweat. He reached up and touched his scar, which was aching. As his fingers came into contact with his scar, a pain shot through it once again, and he withdrew his hand sharply. There was a knock at his door, and Ginny entered. Harry looked quickly towards the door, raising his head from the pillow and staring towards the door, down the length of his bed.

"Are you alright?" she asked timidly. "I couldn't sleep, and I heard you thrashing and then you screamed."

"I did?" said Harry, embarrassed more than alarmed. Ginny nodded in the dark, while Harry felt tension clench around his stomach.

Harry didn't want to go back to sleep. He kept thinking about the previous year, and how Voldemort had controlled and entered Harry's mind while he was sleeping. He had no desire to repeat the experience, to give away important information, about the Order of the Phoenix or about other – _things_ that he didn't want out. He shuddered slightly and involuntarily.

"Do you fancy a game of chess or something?" he asked Ginny, "it's nearly morning anyway."

"Yeah," she said, "let's play in my room," she added. Harry was relieved; he didn't want her to have to sit on his damp bed.

Ginny left to find the chess set, which she had to steal from Ron and Hermione's room. Harry waited for her on the landing, and waited for her to lead him into her room. Ginny sat at the head of the bed, and Harry sat back against the footboard of the bed. When Harry looked at Ginny he saw that she was giggling slightly. Thinking it might be him she was laughing at, he looked around himself quickly.

"It seems that at least two people in this house are getting some sleep tonight," she said finally.

"Who?" said Harry, dumbly.

"Ron and Hermione. The Chess was still in Ron's room, so obviously I had a quick listen from the other side of the door to make sure they weren't up to anything. Well, they weren't but it looked like they had been. Umm, Ron is still in Hermione's bed."

Harry wondered for a moment if Ginny was trying to drop hints to him by mentioning it, but if she was she didn't press the issue.

Harry forced a little giggle. It was an odd feeling, but Harry for once didn't feel as though he was missing out on anything. Ron and Hermione had been here all last summer while he had been stuck in Privet Drive for his longest stay since he had discovered the Wizarding world, and at that time Harry had felt left out and shunned by Ron and Hermione, feeling that by obeying Dumbledore and keeping him in the dark as long as he was with the Muggles, that it was _their_ fault he hadn't been kept informed.

Now though, he felt as though it was fine. Ron and Hermione had had a lot of time for each other since Harry had arrived this summer, and he hadn't really missed the company of either of them. Ron had never been this distant from him since they had met each other on the Hogwarts Express, on Harry's first ever day at Hogwarts, or so it felt.

Harry felt that now Ron felt further away from him than he had when he and Ron had not been on speaking terms, during the autumn of their fourth year, when Ron had been convinced that Harry had gotten his own name into the Goblet of Fire. This time around they were still friends, but Ron suddenly had a lot more time for Hermione than for Harry.

Yet for some reason he still didn't mind. It wasn't as though he hadn't seen it coming – Ron had evidently been smitten with Hermione for a long time, and that had manifested itself on Christmas night of that infamous fourth year, when Ron had gone ballistic about Hermione dating the Bulgarian Viktor Krum, international Quidditch star, and Triwizard Champion of Durmstrang Institute.

Harry didn't know why he felt this way, he wasn't going out with anyone else; he didn't have any particular crush on anyone else any more, Cho Chang had put paid to his little crush on her the previous year by bursting into tears every time they went on a date, and insisting on talking about Cedric Diggory, her boyfriend whom Harry had witnessed murdered in that fourth year, two years ago now.

He did feel as though he was waiting for someone though. He had no clear picture in his head of who it was though. _Maybe its Ginny_, he thought as he watched her set out the Chess pieces. _No_, he thought, she's Ron' sister, that's a bit wrong. Then a more sinister voice in his head put in its two cents worth, _maybe its Lord Voldemort inside your head again, Harry_. He shuddered at the thought, but agreed with himself that that was kind of unlikely.

His thoughts returned to the room as Ginny finished laying out the chess pieces and, being white, made the first move.

It was a close game. Harry, for some reason, had never thought that Ginny would be particularly good at Chess, though she did display quite a flair for it. Harry realised that he had never really played anyone at Chess apart from Ron, who was practically unbeatable, so he relished the close victory he claimed over Ginny, involving an exciting climax between one of Harry's knights and Ginny's queen, who did not wish to be removed from the board, and put up one hell of a fight.

When their game was finally over, both Harry and Ginny were getting a bit bored with chess. Harry offered to go fetch his Exploding Snap cards in an effort to make things a little more interesting. Ginny laughed a little at the idea, but suggested that perhaps Exploding Snap was a little too loud for the hour of the morning.

They both sat back, Ginny against the headboard and Harry against one of the posts at the bottom of the bed. Harry gazed in Ginny's direction, his eyes unfocused. The room came back into as much focus as his eyes could manage without the aid of his glasses when he became aware that Ginny was staring intently at him. He slid his glasses back up his nose and fixed her with his own eyes.

"What were you dreaming about?" asked Ginny, as soon as she said it looking scared at her own daring. "You don't have to tell me, it's really none of my business," she added quickly, averting her eyes for the first time in several minutes.

"It's OK," Harry told her, thinking. Ron and Hermione, it seemed, liked to spend a lot of time together nowadays. He needed _someone_ to talk to, someone who could understand. Ginny had been in the Department of Mysteries with him, and had also been possessed by Lord Voldemort. If anyone could understand what was going on at the moment it was her. Ginny waited in silence, patiently waiting for Harry.

"OK," he said. She sat up, paying him her entire attentions. He began to explain to her all about the dream he had just had, voicing also his concerns about why he was seeing it all over again. She listened patiently. When Harry used Voldemort's name, she didn't flinch. She didn't react at all to any detail of his story, but listened calmly. Harry really appreciated it; normally when he related stories like this people peppered him with questions, even Dumbledore had taken to doing that. Harry loved Ginny for letting him finish uninterrupted, she became easy for him to talk to, and when he was done, remained silent for several minutes, considering what Harry had said.

"Well," she said finally, "I dream at least once or twice a week about how Riddle possessed me, and everything he could have done with me." She paused, then added, "and some stuff he did." Now it was Harry's turn to remain silent. He had never heard Ginny talk about this, and Ron never mentioned anything about it to him.

"It was different to yours though, because I can't remember what I did while I was under his control. Maybe it's something to do with you scar."

Hearing someone else say what he had been dreading seemed to lend the genuine possibility that it may actually be the case, even though Harry had known deep down, all along, that it probably was.

"I would kind of _wake up_ in the middle of corridors, and not know how I got there," Ginny continued. "You say you were lying on the floor when Voldemort possessed you?"

"Yeah, looking up at Dumbledore. That part all happened in the Ministry, up to the part where I say _'Kill me now, Dumbledore'_. Last time, Voldemort left when Fudge and the Aurors turned up. But in the dream nobody else came, and Dumbledore killed me."

"You know he wouldn't do that for real, Harry," said Ginny gravely.

"I didn't think he would, but I'm not sure," said Harry, aware that he was beginning to sound tragic.

"Of course he wouldn't," Ginny said, then she smiled, "Mum would kill _Dumbledore_ if he did!" They both chuckled for a moment, before Harry continued in the same vein as before.

"I know the prophecy says _either must die at the hand of the other_, but it doesn't say what happens if someone else kills the pair of us, and it doesn't say that that can't happen."

"It doesn't fulfill the prophecy, Harry," replied Ginny, still patiently, " 'either must die at the hand of the other,' that means that he _has_ to kill you or, hopefully, the other way round." Ginny allowed herself a quick smile to Harry, even though she looked quite scared at the reality of Harry's situation.

"There's something else that's different too," Harry said, but before he told Ginny what it was, she told _him_.

"The voice at the end?" she asked.

"Yeah, how did you…"

"Well you said that everything up to that point actually happened, and the dream ends when you get killed, so I figured that was all that was left," she said, simply.

"Well, you're right," said Harry, "I have no idea who it is, or where they've come from."

"The curse doesn't touch you before you wake up, does it," Ginny asked.

"No," Harry replied.

"Then whoever it is must be in the foyer level at the Ministry somewhere," she said.

"I suppose, but it _was_ a dream, it could have been my parents or something."

At that point there was a quick knock on Ginny's bedroom door, and Hermione came into the room. She paused for a moment when she saw Harry on Ginny's bed.

"Morning Ginny, Harry," she said.

"Morning," they replied in unison.

"We, neither of us, could sleep," Ginny explained, then looked at Harry, who nodded, before continuing, "we played chess then Harry was telling be about a dream he had."

"Another dream?" Hermione asked, "I thought I heard something like you talking seriously, Harry," she joked briefly, "what was it this time, the Department of Mysteries again?"

"No, just the Ministry," Harry replied, not really wanting to explain everything all over again, even though he knew he would have to tell Ron and Hermione about it at some point.

"I'll be right back," said Ginny, "I have to go to the bathroom." She left the room.

"You know that Ron and I are still here for you," said Hermione at once, "you can still tell us things, you know."

"I know," said Harry, a little hurt, "I just needed to tell someone while it was still fresh in my mind."

"So you came to see Ginny?"

"No, she came into my room as I woke from the dream, said she heard me thrashing and talking. So we played chess."

"Harry," asked Hermione shrewdly, "do you have a thing for…"

"No!" Harry said, indignant now that Hermione had voiced what he had touched upton on his thoughts earlier.

"Really? Because you know she…"

"No," he repeated firmly. "She's going out with Dean anyway," he added.

"Pfffffff," said Hermione, "he asked her out on the last day of term, and she hasn't even written him since."

"She hasn't said anything about it."

"Of _course_ she hasn't," said Hermione, bordering on her irritatingly patient tone of voice. "Be careful, Harry, don't lead her on."

"I'm _not_ leading her on," said Harry, indignant again.

"I _know_," she stressed, "just be _careful_." She left the room.

* * *

Hope you liked - next chapter coming soon, probably after next Spirit Chapter.

In response to a review, Mrs Weasley only let Ron and Hermione share a ROOM after a long and boring, circular argument, mainly with Ron, but with Hermione, in her usual way, gently pointing out small but important facts. She only agreed to let them share a room - it has two single beds in; she doesn't know any more about what the couple get up to.


	5. Chapter 5

The school year begins - there are surely a few surprises in store - what do they mean?

Sorry I haven't written for a while - exams and stuff, you know the score... I can promise to try not to keep you waiting so long for the next chapter...

Please review...

* * *

When Ginny came back from the bathroom Hermione had left to go get into her own bed, where Mrs Weasley would find her when she came in to wake the two of them up. Harry was sitting alone at the end of Ginny's bed unsure whether or not he should still be there, after when Hermione has just said to him. Ginny pushed the door open and beamed when she saw him still sitting there.

"Did Hermione go back downstairs?" Ginny asked, sounding as if she didn't really mind.

"Yeah," said Harry, "she figured she'd better warm her bed up a bit if your Mum's to believe she spent the _whole_ night in it!" The pair of them shared a quick giggle.

"We may as well get dressed then," Ginny said.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, pleased that she had excused him – he hadn't wanted to appear is if he wanted to leave. "Thanks for last night," he said, aware of how odd it sounded. Ginny seemed to pick up on this too.

"Don't say it like that," she smiled, "but any time though." Harry smiled back at her and quickly left the room.

He went to make his bed, and found that the sheets were still slightly damp with his sweat, though it was now cold. He straightened the pillow and shook the sheet before grabbing his towel off the radiator and going downstairs to the shower.

As the warm water ran over his body he looked down at it critically. He followed his hands with his eyes as he soaped himself over, the bubbles coursing away down the contours of his lightly defined physique. His chest was shapely, if not bulging, and there was a faint ripple of muscle across his stomach. He smiled slightly and looked at his upper arms while he reached over his left shoulder with his right hand to wash his back. His shoulders and upper arms were better defined, and as he held his arms out slightly in front of him and allowed the water to run down them before it showered off the ends of his fingers onto the marble base of the shower tray, he could see thick veins running down from his shoulders right to the tops of his fingers, interconnecting and twining all around. Harry had always been fascinated by these. He rinsed the rest of his body to rid it of soap, then turned the shower off. He stood for a while dripping, before finally stepping out from behind the screen and grabbing his towel. He towelled his hair first, then the rest of his body. He stood before the mirror over the basin, the towel now tied around his middle, falling to just above his ankles. He took a comb from the shelf and firstly combed his hair back as he usually did before, as usual, watching it all flop right back forward, save for the bit that always stuck up at the back.

Satisfied with his appearance, he looked for a moment at his glowing body, warm from the shower, then gave his reflection a quick smile before leaving and trekking back upstairs to get dressed.

He went downstairs once he was fully clothed, to find a small pile of mail on the kitchen table.

"Book lists have arrived," Mrs Weasley announced to him as he entered. Harry was surprised to see that though Ginny was already engrossed in her booklist, Ron and Hermione had not yet appeared for breakfast. He went to the mail pile and extracted his own envelope. It felt a little thicker than usual, but perhaps it was just so long since Harry had received any mail that he was feeling a little optimistic about it.

Hermione and Ron slunk into the kitchen at that point, looking a little red in the face. Harry raised his eyebrows from the seat he had taken opposite the door, but both looked away rather quickly, and sat either side of Ginny.

"Well its about time you two made an appearance this morning," Mrs Weasley called over to them, in her most accusing voice, "what's been keeping you?"

Ron looked horrified at his mother's question, and looked around Ginny at Hermione, who was concentrating very hard on opening her envelope without tearing it.

"Well, I can see that I'm not going to get an answer out of either of you – perhaps you wouldn't sleep so late into the morning if you weren't sharing a bedroom," she said after a short while.

"It's not anything like that," Ron said, very loudly. He seemed immediately aware that he had sounded incredibly defensive.

"Like what?" Mrs Weasley asked, her eyebrows raised, and her suspicion apparently confirmed, "I know what its like when friends share rooms – you stay awake all night _talking_." The stress she placed on the last word made both Ron and Hermione turn red, and Harry felt his stomach twist in sympathy for them both. He let his attention fall back to his letter, granting his two friends a little less embarrassment by stopping staring at them.

Harry slid his knife under the fold of the parchment tongue of the envelope, and slit it open. Inverting the envelope, his caught the wad of parchment which fell from it. Tossing the envelope onto the table, Harry flipped open the booklist. Scanning it quickly, he realised that there were no textbooks required which he didn't already own. He was about to point out to Ron and Hermione that they hadn't been set a new Defence Against the Dark Arts book, when the second piece of parchment caught his eye.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_Over the past year you have made a very positive impression on the school's management and governors. As such you have been selected for the role of Gryffindor Prefect, effective immediately. Obviously this position comes with a significant degree of responsibility, though this is offset somewhat by the preference you will receive in other areas._

_You will be required to attend a short Prefects' meeting with the Head Boy during the train journey to Hogwarts, however the patrols throughout the transit are the sole responsibility of Fifth Year prefects._

_You have furthermore been appointed Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, following the graduation of Angelina Johnson last summer. This position also carries a significant degree of responsibility._

_Your selection for both of these positions at Hogwarts is indicative of the confidence your teachers and the governors have in your ability to balance this double responsibility, as well as you academic studies. I would like to take this opportunity to wish you every success with your studies and charges this year._

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. – The password to the Prefects' bathroom is _still_ pine fresh!_

Harry stared at the letter, and as he did so, a large red and gold badge materialized at the bottom of the letter. Moments later, the gold triple-stripes of a Quidditch captain appeared also.

Harry became aware that he had been completely silent for the past five minutes when Mrs Weasley brought him a glass of orange juice. As she placed the glass down on the table in front of him, Harry was still hidden behind his pages of parchment.

"My you've got a lot there," she said, moving behind him to read over his shoulder. As she did so, she spotted the badge and the stripes.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, "_Well done!_ You three – look!"

At Mrs Weasley's exclamation, Ron, Hermione and Ginny rushed over to join her. Harry suddenly felt three sets of arms fasten themselves securely round his neck as Mrs Weasley, Hermione and Ginny all hugged him at the same time. Harry could hear Ron cheering, and saying that there was no way Gryffindor could lose the house cup this year.

"Go get your Quidditch robes, Harry dear," Mrs Weasley told Harry as the cleared away the empty breakfast plates, "I'll sew your stripes on for you." Harry started to say it was OK, and he'd do them himself, and not to worry, but Mrs Weasley overrode him. "Oh come on, it'll only take a second, and I know what you boys are like a sewing. Go on." Harry grinned at her and she smiled back as he left the room.

The remainder of the holiday passed with little event. People had stopped by to ongratulate Harry, but for the most part Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny had been keeping themselves amused. Dumbledore had spoken to Harry before he left, promising he would personally give Harry Occlumency lessons once they were back at school. Though he did not let on very much at all of what Ron had been able to tell him, Harry got the impression that Voldemort was gleaning much more information from his mental link with Harry than any of the Order had ever imagined.

"It is still important for you to practise your mind-clearing exercise before going to bed each night, Harry," Dumbledore had said, "even if it is not particularly effective at this stage, even if you only make it the slightest bit harder for Voldemort to enter your mind, it will be worth it."

Harry thought about these words as he sat in the Ministry car Mr Weasley had borrowed, sliding through the narrow streets towards King's Cross Station, where the Hogwarts Express would be waiting at Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters. They were running later than anyone would have liked; when the station came in sight they had ten minutes to make it onto the train.

Before the car had even fully stopped moving, Mr Weasley had dashed out of it to go fetch luggage trolleys. Harry, Hermione and Ginny, with Mr Weasley's help and Mrs Weasley's encouragement, practically threw their trunks from the car onto the trolleys, before they all hurried into the station. They didn't even bother looking around to see if there were any Muggles watching before they plunged through the magical wall between platforms nine and ten, onto the wizarding platform nine and three quarters, such was their rush.

Most of the other students were already on the train as Mrs Weasley hurriedly handed out hugs and kisses and Mr Weasley helped those hugged and kissed with their luggage handing out his usual fruitless warnings against misbehaviour. As Harry stepped onto the train last, having received seconds of Mrs Weasley's affection, the steam surged and the pistons eased into motion.

They all paused to wave fervently at the shrinking, and ultimately disappearing figures of Ron and Ginny's parents before hauling their luggage off down the corridor to find a free compartment. They walked the end of the train before finding a compartment that was even half empty.

"Are there more people at Hogwarts this year?" Ron grumbled.

"Can't we sit in the Prefects'…" Harry began but was cut off both by Ginny's indignant protests and Hermione's matter-of-fact explanation that the rules had once again been changed so that only Fifth Year prefects, whose responsibility it was to monitor behaviour on the train, were permitted to sit in that compartment.

At the very end of the train they finally found a compartment that wasn't full. Harry slid the door open, and was lugging his trunk through the doorway when he spotted a diminutive figure with swept back blond hair sitting in the rearward facing seat by the window, where he had been quite hidden from Harry's glance through the sliding door of the compartment. They caught each others' gaze, and both scowled. Ginny stuck her head around the side of the opening to the corridor, to see what had eld Harry up. She rolled her eyes at the unmoving boys, before talking unnecessarily loudly over their silence.

"Shove along, both of you," she said, pushing Harry in the small of the back so that he had to proceed into the compartment for fear of cutting his shins on the edge of his trunk. "Looks like you lucked out, Malfoy," she continued, fixing him with a cold glare, "blood traitors, half-bloods and a Muggle-born to keep you company." She grinned simply at him, then manoeuvred herself into the compartment. Harry realised too late that Ginny had forced him to the seat opposite Malfoy, boxed in by herself and Hermione.

Harry was pleased to see that now all the Gryffindors had taken over the compartment, Malfoy sat with his head hung, staring either at the floor or determinedly out of the window. They were halfway through their fourth violent game of Exploding Snap before Harry remembered that Malfoy had been missing all summer. Ron didn't outwardly seem to mind, though Harry noticed that Ron's eyes would sometimes stray towards the Slytherin, then narrow and turn to Harry. There didn't seem to be any hint of conspiracy in his expression though, and every time Ron caught Harry looking at him in these situations, he would look abruptly away.

About an hour into the journey, Malfoy finally spoke. He had been staring at Harry's chest for about five minutes solid, before finally making a comment about the shiny new badge pinned to Harry's chest.

"Where'd you find that, Potter?" he sneered, "surely nobody made _you_ a prefect."

"Actually they did," Harry retorted sharply, feeling the heat rise within him, "I think that getting your parents arrested and escaping their boss again had something to do with it, too – so thanks for that."

That was the first time that Harry had ever felt bad about something he had said to Malfoy. The boy looked obviously upset, but angry at the same time. He threw himself back into his chair and stared sullenly out of the window once again. Harry looked at Ron, then Hermione. Ron was grinning broadly while Hermione, predictably, looked reproachful towards Harry and concerned towards Malfoy. Harry and Ron simultaneously rolled their eyes at each other.

"There's Dean," Ginny said suddenly. She pushed past Hermione and out into the corridor. Harry saw Dean's eyes light up, then the pair of them vanished from sight as Dean led her back to his compartment. Ron didn't feel much like playing cards any more.

"You know, Ron, we should probably go see if the new prefects need any help with their patrolling," Hermione said, trying to distract Ron from his apparent disgust at Ginny's choice of boyfriend. Harry had an idea that Hermione had a better way to distract him in mind, but didn't say anything. He grinned knowingly between Ron and Hermione, the realised as they left the compartment that he was alone with Malfoy. He scowled and turned to survey the lightly built Slytherin, and was surprised to see that Malfoy was already looking at him.

"Yes?" Harry asked sarcastically. Malfoy didn't look abashed any more. He calmly opened his mouth and began to speak.

"I was just thinking, Harry," he said conversationally, "you and I – we're rather alike."

"What?" Harry asked bluntly, before continuing, "and by the way – my _friends_ call me Harry; Potter will do from you, _Malfoy_." He had no idea why he was being so hostile, other than that that was how he and Malfoy had always dealt with each other. So why was Malfoy being so apparently magnanimous?

"As I was saying, _Harry, _you and I are rather alike. Unloved, uncared for, tortured childhoods – I've heard you had no friends at your Muggle school, I have no real friends – only forced acquaintances with people my father associates with." Draco paused.

"And now that neither of us have parents around … mine'll be killed I suppose – the Ministry will never release them, and if they did the Dark Lord's Dementors would punish them most severely for failing to obtain the Prophecy from you."

"When you've had no parents for sixteen years, then we'll see how alike we are, Malfoy," Harry said quietly, but with such an edge to his voice he was subconsciously satisfied to see that Malfoy looked afraid.

"At least you can live in the knowledge that your parents loved you – died to protect you," he whispered, emotion and hurt clear in his tone, "I was only born to continue the Malfoy line. Father wanted a strong, popular son – I've failed him, he's had to _make_ me what I am."

"Well that's not much, is it," Harry said spitefully, "and by the way – _you_ can live in the knowledge that your parents are the reason mine are dead!" He started towards the door, but stopped when he heard Malfoy speak once again. He turned to glare at the boy, but found Malfoy meeting his eyes, though tentatively. Harry's stomach gave an indeterminable lurch as he saw the tears glistening in the grey eyes turned up towards him.

"I know," Malfoy whispered, shifting his head slightly to better look Harry in the eye. "Yours and countless others'. I am not responsible for what my parents have done, but I think about it, and have to live with it every day of my life."

Harry left the compartment, leaving the door open behind him. He had never thought about how the actions of a parent affected the attitude of other people towards a child. He initially found himself expecting not to care, but was a little unsettled when he found that he could see sense in what Malfoy had said, even to the point of feeling sorry for him. He stared out of the window as the world sped by, shrouded in darkness as rain clouds had gathered. As he watched the rain sliding down the window, no matter how hard he glared at it he could not stop himself feeling like he had been unnecessarily harsh in what he had said back in the compartment. He withdrew from his thoughts as he almost walked into Ron and Hermione who had just emerged, Harry noticed, from the boys' toilet compartment. He raised his eyebrows and didn't even get the chance to ask for an explanation before receiving one.

"Ron was trying to sort out some boys who were misbehaving, so I decided to give him some backup," Hermione rushed breathlessly. Trying not to give too much though to Hermione 'backing Ron up' or to whatever misbehaviour had occurred, Harry found himself starting off down the corridor, calling over his shoulder.

"Come on – prefects' meeting," he said, before turning forwards again and striding towards the head of the train. He could not help feeling a little left out. Not because he wanted to be fooling around with the pair of them, but because he felt a bit upset that they had left him in the exclusive company of Draco Malfoy so that they could go have their fun. Ron seemed to sense what Harry was thinking, or at least part of it.

"Sorry for leaving you on your own with Malfoy," he said, suddenly, "but we figured at least you could hold your own."

"What – while you were holding someone else's?" Harry asked, initially meaning it spitefully, but finding himself turning to grin at Ron, whose ears turned immediately pink. Hermione remained quite silent.

The three of them finally made it to the front compartment, which had gilt frames to the frosted glass that divided the compartment from the corridor. The head boy was sat beside the head girl, facing towards the sliding door which Harry, Ron and Hermione now passed through. Harry stopped in the doorway as he spotted the head girl – it was Cho Chang. He could almost hear Hermione's eyes rolling, but at that point his own gaze passed onto the head boy, a Hufflepuff whose name Harry didn't know. He moved into the compartment and sat.

"I suppose we'd better get started then," the head boy said, "we'll have to pass messages to those who aren't, or can't be, here."

He gave a short speech outlining the responsibilities of the prefects, and the appreciation he was sure he would feel if the duties were carried out efficiently and without question. Harry got the distinct impression from Ron's attitude that what he was saying was all standard stuff, and was probably largely the same as had been said by the head boy the previous year. Harry found himself wondering why Cho Chang had been chosen as head girl. She wasn't the most confident of girls, and Harry couldn't think of anything she could have done to have attracted sufficient attention to have been given the position. The only thing she was involved in other than her schoolwork, which Harry understood to be 'OK' at best, was Quidditch, which he considered her to be 'about average' at. In fairness, he reasoned, he couldn't think of anyone else who could have done any better, though he couldn't see her being a particularly effective organizer of prefects' duties. Indeed, she said not a word throughout the meeting – though the head boy seemed to have ably managed the entire spectrum of tasks.

"We've decided to organize the duties such that if we split you into pairs you can take care of them like that," the head boy explained. Harry reflected briefly that though he addressed the group confidently, his choice of words were perhaps not the most articulate. "We've split you down into pairs, as follows."

He began to read pairs of names from a roll of parchment Cho had just passed him. Perhaps she did do something then, Harry thought as the names continued. Ron and Hermione shifted slightly and unsuccessfully attempted to hide their grins when their names were read out together. Harry was still smirking slightly when he heard his own name. In the split second between his name and the one that was to follow, Harry felt a small tang of nervousness in his stomach – who would he be paired with. There would have been a time when he would have been sitting there hoping to be paired with Cho.

"Harry Potter … Draco Malfoy," he said. Harry's stomach froze. He closed his eyes, resigning himself to a year of prefect duties with Malfoy. _Malfoy_. _Why_ did he have to be paired with Malfoy? How was he going to prove himself to be a better prefect than Malfoy now that they had to work together?

The meeting ended and Harry was walking back down the corridor staring at the floor.

"It's not the end of the world, Harry," Hermione said, but Harry wasn't in the mood to be consoled. He had just been thinking about how he had felt when the head boy had called his name out with Malfoy's. If he had felt annoyed merely because he and Malfoy hated each other it would have been fine, but Harry couldn't understand why he didn't feel annoyed so much as disappointed that he wouldn't have the opportunity to compete with the Slytherin. He then remembered what Malfoy had said to him about them being similar back in the compartment before the meeting. There was a significant degree of truth in what he had said. And how he was going to have to listen to whatever it was the Malfoy had wanted to say, regularly throughout each duty.

"You'll only have to spend a few hours a week with him," Hermione offered into Harry's silence. He still said nothing.

"We're going to stop and get some snacks – want anything, Harry?" Ron asked, pulling Hermione to a halt beside him. Harry shook his head, still walking away.

Once Ron and Hermione had turned to go the other way, Harry quickened his pace – he wanted to see Malfoy's reaction to their pairing while they were still on their own.

He slid the compartment door open quickly and found himself pleased, for the first time ever, that he found Malfoy in the compartment still. The blond boy looked up into Harry's face the same way he had as Harry left the compartment – looking straight into his eyes. Harry found it easier to hold Malfoy's gaze than he had expected – he didn't have to narrow his eyes or glare. Harry moved to his seat opposite Malfoy. Malfoy followed Harry as he sat down.

"Its not actually that hard, being civil, is it?" Malfoy asked conversationally. Harry wondered momentarily at the civility of the statement, but couldn't think of any clever challenge, so he shrugged.

"You weren't at the prefects' meeting," he said. Malfoy did a rather convincing impression of the frustration people usually felt when they had missed something important, but the airy way he dismissed his expression gave it away as an act.

"Well," Harry continued, "they're putting us in pairs for the duties…"

"Let me guess," Malfoy cut him off with his dry, slow drawl, "Granger and the Weasel…" he paused, as if inviting Harry to retaliate, but Harry couldn't see the point, "…and you and I," he finished. As he nodded, Harry was sure he saw Malfoy trying to suppress a small smile; his usually elegantly down-turned lips twitched slightly and the corner curled slightly.

At that moment Ron and Hermione returned. In tandem the two boys forced scowls of dislike at the other, and Malfoy swept his head to look out of the window, flicking his hair out of his eyes in the same movement. Harry turned to his two friends with an expression of resigned disgust. Ron's face looked equally appalled that Malfoy was still in the compartment.

"I'd hoped something would have come and got him," he said, making no effort to hide the contempt in his voice. Malfoy looked around and raised an eyebrow at Ron, before turning casually back to the window.

"Did you tell him about the prefects' duties?" Hermione asked Harry, jerking her head at Malfoy.

"Yes he did, Granger," said Malfoy, having turned back into the compartment – he was fixing Hermione with the same gaze he had shared with Harry twice that day, "it would seem that whoever the head boy is this year is sensible enough to see that Potter needs someone sensible to keep him on the straight-and-narrow."

"And you'd be just the guy, wouldn't you," Hermione replied, tartly. "Babysitting Harry must be a bit of a step down from being on the Inquisitorial Squad, mustn't it?" She turned to Harry, and continued in a mock-hushed tone, "I mean – if I'd been in what amounts to Death-Eater training, and that was what I wanted, I'd have _loved_ it."

A faint pink tinge had reached up from Malfoy's neck into the usual pallor of his cheeks. "How would a Mudblood like you _possibly_ comprehend what _I_ might want?" he spat.

As the train slowed into Hogsmeade station Harry and Hermione, still reeling from what Malfoy might have meant, finally agreed to give Ron his wand back.


End file.
